What's a Girl to Do?

December 23rd, 2006, 7:00PM

Mollie: My skin is SO dry. I have got to go put on some lotion!!!

Elisabeth: Why are you so obsessed with lotioning yourself?

Mollie: I’m not. My skin is just dry.

A few hours later: the lights come up on the Kent’s upstairs living room, Emily sneaks into the room from the hallway and blends in with the others who are already there.

Emily: Let’s watch a movie!

Mollie: My family always watches White Christmas before Christmas. Let’s watch it tonight.

Emily: OK.

Movie begins, and Emily, Mollie, and Elisabeth sit watching it. After a few minutes, Elisabeth hops up to go to the restroom. Lights down on Upstairs Living Room. Lights up on Elisabeth’s Bathroom. Elisabeth walks in and scrutinizes the toilet seat.

Elisabeth: What’s that on the toilet seat? Bending closer, I think Mollie put lotion on and then sat down on the toilet. Eww.

Elisabeth wipes off the seat vigorously with toilet paper. Lights down on Elisabeth’s Bathroom. Lights up on upstairs living room. Elisabeth re-enters and sits down. The movie continues. Emily casts a suspicious glance at Elisabeth and then gets up and walks into the hall.

Elisabeth: Where are you going?

Emily: The office (snicker, snicker).

Lights down on upstairs living room. Lights up on Elisabeth’s Bathroom. Emily sneaks in with a fiendish smile. She scrutinizes the toilet seat even more carefully than Elisabeth.

Emily: What? It’s gone. I’m sure she came in here. Why didn’t she say anything?

Whipping out a large container of Vaseline from behind a curtain, Emily smears a generous layer onto the toilet seat. With another snicker, she replaces the Vaseline and exits. Lights down on Elisabeth’s Bathroom. Lights up on Upstairs Living Room. Emily re-enters and the movie continues. A few hours later: the movie is over.

Elisabeth: That was kind-of a cheesy movie, but fun anyways . . .

Mollie: Ya, I’m gonna go wash my face and brush my teeth.

Elisabeth: OK. I’ll make some hot chocolate.

Lights down on Upstairs Living Room as Mollie and Elisabeth exit. Lights up on Elisabeth’s Bathroom. Mollie enters. Lights down on Elisabeth’s Bathroom. A few moments later . . .

Mollie: EMILY!!!!!!! As she screams, she stomps into Emily’s Bathroom.

Elisabeth, curious to find out what all the screaming is about, enters Emily’s Bathroom.

Elisabeth: What’s going on?

Mollie: Emily Vaselined our toilet seat.

Elisabeth, confused: What? You mean that was Vaseline??? I thought you had done your lotioning and then sat down.

Mollie: WHAT?? Gross!

Everyone breaks out laughing.

December 24th, 9:00PM

The family sits around the Christmas tree opening presents. Elisabeth picks up a present from Mollie and Emily.

Elisabeth: Oooo . . . what’s in this one?

Mollie and Emily exchange giggly glances as Elisabeth begins to open the package. The wrapping falls away to reveal . . . BUTT LOTION—The Moisturization Sensation That’s Sweeping the Nation!!!

The front of the container reads:
BUTT LOTION
GUARANTEED TO MOISTEN EVEN THE FLAKIEST OF BUTTS IN JUST ONE APPLICATION!

And the back:
Instructions for use: Apply a thick layer to the buttocks in large sweeping strokes. For added moisture, apply two liberal coats to the commode seat.

I’m not sure, but I think someone (or rather two someones) were MAKING FUN OF ME . . . Alas, what’s a girl to do?

A Kent Family Thanksgiving

Some families spend Thanksgiving fighting. Some families spend Thanksgiving trying to avoid each other. My family does not do either of these things~~actually, in all honesty, we suspect a bit of the second may often be attempted by Todd. However, on the whole, our Thanksgiving family reunion is in no way typical except in its atypical nature. Rather than describing the many exploits of our gatherings, I have chosen two very random activities that characterize our Thanksgiving adventures.

Aunt Tanya always, without fail, succeeds in coercing the family into what she calls the “'What I’m Thankful for' Sharing Time”. This tradition started on an afternoon long ago when Aunt Tanya couldn’t think of anything for her hyper (at least in Emily’s case) nieces. As she racked her brain for an activity, ANY ACTIVITY, a brilliant thought popped into her head like a cherry tomato pops in one’s mouth. Fiendishly pulling out her emergency supply of construction paper, Aunt Tanya giggled, “Girls, why don’t you make a list of all the things you’re thankful for and then we can have a sharing time.” Of course, she was secretly praying that this list compilation would keep us occupied for at least 30 minutes. Unfortunately, she was not in luck as far as time, yet this activity became a tradition. It may look like a simple tradition, but all is not as it seems. Behind Aunt Tanya’s sweet persuasion lies a desire to RULE THE WORLD! What I tell you is true. It may have started with an activity for her nieces, but realizing the power she might obtain, Aunt Tanya set out to convince no less than every family member to participate. In this way, she felt that her secret need for control might be fulfilled. Alas, her scheming succeeded beyond even her own wildest imaginations. Indeed, activities of this sort are contagious, and our family is now wrapped tightly within Aunt Tanya’s grip, powerless to defend ourselves against the “‘What I’m Thankful for’ Sharing Time.”

As if this wasn't enough, our adventures continue . . . it is widely thought that one is born with a personality, which accompanies that person to death (with, of course, minor evolutions). Amongst the Kent Family, however, this argument is not condoned. In fact, our personalities change at least once a year if not three or four times. You may ask, “How is this possible?” Allow me to explain. A multitude of “Personality Books” dot the coffee tables at the lakehouse. These are books with deceptively interesting names such as, “Please Understand Me.” Each family member has taken the personality tests inside these books many times, yet a certain fascination always arises—-if nothing else, these books are entertaining. Thus, as we sit in the living room visiting after eating our fill of stuffing and pumpkin pie, someone inadvertently picks up one of the books. She begins flipping nonchalantly through the pages. Then, all of the sudden, she stops, squints intently down at the book, looks up at the group, and says, “Elisabeth is an ENFJ???” Someone else responds, “No way. She’s not an E. She’s an I!” At this point, everyone scrambles to grab one of the “personality books.” This leads to a heated discussion in which every activity, glance, word, and movement I have made the entire weekend is scrutinized and re-thought with intense and deliberate accuracy. Once the group has come to a conclusion on my personality (which is, of course, never the same as it was last year) they continue on to the next person. In this way, much of the Thanksgiving holiday passes by. Once everyone has been re-assigned to their new personality for the year, it is definitely time for another round of pumpkin pie . . .

On that note, I am off to whisk my pumpkin pie out of the oven. Stay tuned for some crazy posts this Thanksgiving weekend. And if Cousin Bobby starts to get anxious over his regular meal schedule being re-arranged, pull out the “personality books.” Chances are he’s Choleric cooked medium-well with a touch of Melancholy on the side. ;-)

Menace or Madonna?

It has come to my attention that Miss Emily Kent has proposed certain claims as to my behavior on March 17, 2006. She has gone so far as to suggest that I was "The Menace with the Munchkins."

http://emilykent.blogspot.com/2007/11/menace-with-munchkins.html

I hold these claims to be both untrue and libel. In proposing that I may be "The Madonna with the Munchkins," I suggest a usage of the word Madonna as an idealized, virtuous woman. It is no doubt in the nature of justice to assign blame for the occurrences of that day. Defending myself, I could argue, in the words of Rolfe, “The responsibility [for these claims] will not be found only in documents. It will be found in consideration of a . . . social nature” (Judgment at Nuremburg, pg. 27). This argument would be logical. I could argue that “even able and extraordinary [people] can delude themselves into the commission of crimes and atrocities so vast and heinous as to stagger the imagination” (Judgment at Nuremburg, pg. 78). This argument would be logical. Yet, “to be logical is not to be right” (Judgment at Nuremburg, pg. 81). Thus, I shall attempt to tell you the truth, no more and no less. I suggest that “the responsibility for the crimes . . . must be placed in true perspective . . . it is a dilemma that rests with your conscience” (Judgment at Nuremberg, pg. 74).

To render justice to the events of that fateful day, I must return briefly to a similar day seven days earlier. It is on this day, the 10th of March, which my tale begins.

This day began, as most unpromising days do, with a zit. Mind you, this was no ordinary zit. This zit surpassed all others in stature.

In fact, this zit prompted a most ingenious piece of composing. I like to call it "A Rudolph Parody".

"Then one foggy March morning, Todd came to say,
'Brenda with your chin so bright, won't you drive our car tonight?'
Then how the Kents loved her as they shouted out with glee, 'Whee'
Brenda, the Zit-chinned mother, you'll go down in history!"

It is in the context of this mortal blemish that one must place the subsequent events.

As we traversed the many miles between College Station, Texas and Orlando, Florida, Emily found a particular “dot” amongst the rubble littering our car. This dot was the subject of much discourse throughout the day. Indeed, this dot prompted the following pictures…


Discussing the dot proved to be only the least of our entertainment. For Brenda took it upon herself to exclaim most fortuitously, “Look girls, devastation!!!!!” This shriek was of course accompanied by a fiendish giggle and a purely evil facial expression. No, reader, we were not traveling into the “Heart of Darkness.” We were passing the remains of Hurricane Katrina, which prompted sadness and sorrow in most of our family but had the strange effect of promoting interest in Brenda. After that sighting, Brenda spent the rest of the day scouting diligently for “devastation” to our utter chagrin.

This is the first part of my story. I have attempted to recount the episodes that occurred as we traveled to Disney World to give you a background from which to view the events happening as we traveled from Disney World.

We love road trips but only when they involve food. Seriously, can you imagine anything worse than sitting in the car for an entire day without food?????? Such an idea is inconceivable! Thus, as we wound towards Texas at a very unpleasant hour of the morning, a donut stop was in order.

Now allow me to digress momentarily. Perhaps you have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with “Todd Time”. Those of you who nod “yes” are surely recalling “minutes” turning into hours before your very eyes. Yes, my dear father has a true gift when it comes to time. An 80-mile drive becomes “no more than 40 minutes.” Do not suppose that this is due to over-speedy driving. This 40 minute estimation must be taken as “Todd Time” and then exchanged for “Real Time.” Thus, when Dad spoke of a town “only a few minutes down the road,” we knew it was in our best interest to stop a the first place we saw rather than risk the unknown abyss of “Todd Time.”

We pulled over at Dunkin Donuts, and hastily rushed to fill our abundant appetites! After downing more than what could be deemed necessary for sustenance, we piled back into the car with a box of 50 “Munchkin” Donut Holes for the road. Of course, as soon as we squished into the car, Emily and Mom both insisted on going to the bathroom before leaving. They rushed off to the lue, and Dad decided to top off the gas tank while we were waiting. With Abby engrossed in her book, I was left all by my lonesome for quite some time (these bathroom breaks always take longer than they should).

Thus, we come to the point of our story. Did I eat the Munchkins? Yes. Does it necessarily follow that I alone was guilty in this crime? No.

What Emily fails to realize in her analysis of the situation is that if I had not been left in the car waiting for such a very long time, none of this would have occurred. If I am guilty of eating the Munchkins, then the rest of my family is equally guilty. While I may have done the chewing, their contributions to the situation were such that I may assume the Munchkins would not have been eaten if I hadn’t been left alone for so long. Ultimately then, if one is to find me guilty, one must also find my family guilty. In the words of Colonel Parker, “It is a dilemma that rests with your conscience” (Judgment at Nuremberg, pg. 74). I have tried to "speak in defense of reason" (The Eumenides, line 532)

Reflections of a Depraved Mind

WARNING: This is a serious blog post. Yes, this is one of those either truly inspired or truly delusional posts in which one rants on and on and on and on . . .

Before I begin, a quick note on the title. By depraved I mean the Calvinist assertion of the human state in Total Depravity. By mind, I suggest something more sinister (not really). However, this title is ironic because many Catholics--accepting tradition comming down from St. Augustine--claim that the "human will" is totally deprived, but the "human mind" is not. Thus, this title is both fitting to this post and expository in a certain way of my Reformed theology. With that in mind, let us continue.

I have grown up in a conservative, Reformed Presbyterian home as well as a fairly conservative community not too far off the “Bible Belt.” Thus, my theological introduction in the realm of Christianity has been narrow. Please do not misunderstand me, I was introduced to a variety of different worldviews, but they could all be easily “othered”—i.e. Islam, Hinduism. It was clear why I did not agree with these worldviews. Yet the width of my perception within Christian theology was about as wide as the differences between Baptist and Reformed Presbyterian theology. In my mind, Christian theology meant biblically sound theology.

Upon entering Georgetown a few months ago, I was introduced to a deluge of new theological ideas. For example, it had never occurred to me that someone claiming to be a Christian would suggest that “Jesus is not necessarily the only way to salvation.” Or “I may be partly dependant on Christ for salvation, but I should go to heaven because I’m a good person.” Do not laugh at my naïve childishness. I simply had not been introduced to such shocking assertions, which are blatantly unbiblical (Rom. 3:28, Eph. 2:8, Gal. 2:16, 2:21). Yet amidst the liberal, Catholic theology at Georgetown, claims like this are abundant. Listening to these misrepresentations of the Christian faith often makes me want to scream at these people, “YOU’RE A SINNER! YOU CANNOT SAVE YOURSELF!” However, that is undeniably not the most effective course, so I usually resort to discussion and questioning.

The largest problem that misrepresentations like these present is that they are often either deceptively close to the truth or close to what we, as humans, want to be the truth. I mean come on, people; it is undeniably part of our completely depraved human nature to desire self-salvation. We want to think that we are good enough to merit salvation, yet as Paul says, “You who want to be under the law, do you not listen to the law?” (Gal. 4:21). In wanting what we simply cannot attain for ourselves, we are forgoing what we do not need to attain for ourselves, the grace of God. How ironic.

I recently had a very interesting discussion with a good friend at school, who is a Hindu. She asked, “Do you think I’m going to hell because I’m not a Christian?” In all honesty, I had to reply, “Yes.” (Don’t worry. She wasn’t offended. That is perhaps one of the greatest assets to this University. People say all sorts of “offending” things about one’s religion, culture, politics, and values, but these things are not taken offensively.) She then asked, “Why would you think I would go to hell? Do you think I’m not a good person?” Of course, this led to an explanation of how I don’t think anyone is a “good person” because human nature is inherently sinful, so her lack of salvation is not a result of anything she has done or failed to do (as in good works) since we as humans cannot save ourselves but are completely dependent upon Christ’s work on the cross as a substitution (gotta love the good old Calvinist term thrown in there…) for our sins.

This was all very foreign to her as well as my Muslim friends. When one has grown up in a Christian family and community, it is difficult to understand the confusion people from these cultures face when confronting Christianity. For example, before our Theology midterm last week, I found myself explaining the concept of grace to my Muslim friends, who couldn’t figure out what it meant in a Christian context. Encounters like this pervade our discussions.

In the words of C.S. Lewis, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen. Not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

This has been a very serious blog post, indeed. I apologize if I’ve bored you to death—meaning you’ve deleted your subscription to my blog . . .—however, one can hardly begrudge me one serious post amongst the frivolous attributes of my general posting.

"A Nefarious Day Turned Not So Nefarious"

“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” Sorry to steal this line from Jane, but it fits so magically into this story. Anyhow, this is not the story of any person. Rather, this is the narrative of a very eccentric character.

Since taking a walk was out of the question, I had to resort to other pastimes, and Andrea and I headed to Target. Those of you who frequent Target will understand that Target is a perfect “no chance for a walk” kind of place. For in Target, one can fritter away time endlessly. Imagine, dear reader, the purses to be examined, the sunglasses to be judged on a scale of how much they resemble “bug eyes”, the jewelry to break (Andrea is rather proficient in the area of breaking jewelry before she even takes it out of the store). Target is truly the “Paradise Lost” for those of us living across the “Wide Sargasso Sea”. However, that is not the subject of this post.

This particular day sounds monotonous enough so far, but do not be disheartened. Just as the day began to seem truly nefarious, I saw before me a rather felicitous and delightful item. Yes, just as I was trotting past the jewelry department towards the bathrooms humming “Go Tell It On the Mountain”…lo and behold, a creature most unparalleled and idiosyncratic dropped before my eyes. Exclaiming to my fellow Target frequenters, “How uncanny!”, I proceeded to buy this artifact—not neglecting, of course, the bathroom break, which had been most pitifully impeded.

Reader, this may very well seem an insignificant account, but I assure you, this “creature” has been a part of your life as well as mine. This creature is none other than that “ridiculous, pink, fuzzy hat that Elisabeth will not get rid of…”. Oh yes, reader, I know the depths of abuse this hat and I have received at your hands. Indeed, had the marvelous appearance of this hat not been so cleverly marked by such a fiendish day, I might find it within myself to dispose of the hat. However, as it is, I am so attached to this hat that there is no disposal in sight—apologies to those of you who loathe this “abomination” (I’m lookin’ at you, Dad…).

You have now heard the tale of the "Nefarious Day Turned Not So Nefarious".